


Flowery Words

by Shadowy_Dumbo_Octopus



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, FLUFF AND FLOWERS AND LOVE, Fluff, Gen, Ghost can speak, Post-Canon, Post-embrace the void ending, Seriously watch out for your cavities, There is no plot just Ghost telling everyone how much they love them, This is so sweet that your teeth WILL disintegrate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 22:42:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18397835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowy_Dumbo_Octopus/pseuds/Shadowy_Dumbo_Octopus
Summary: [REWRITTEN AND REUPLOADED!!!] Now with twice the word count, twice the fluff, twice the feels, and twice the writing quality of someone not on the verge of falling asleep! Enjoy!With the Absolute Radiance vanquished and Hallownest at last free of the infection, the Lord of Shades ponders what they should do now.Or: Ghost of Hallownest wakes up with a voice, and boy do they have some things to say!!!





	Flowery Words

Ghost wasn't supposed to feel.

They were a vessel, hollow and devoid of emotions.

However, feeling the essence of the Absolute Radiance quiver and fall apart in their grasp as they slashed and tore at her, feathers and dream sigils flying, stained with void? That was satisfaction that swirled inside their form, all eight eyes narrowing as the higher being at last dissipated into nothingness. After so many battles, struggles against friend and foe alike, after defeating every adversary they ever faced all over again under Godseeker’s unblinking gaze, watching the bane of Hallownest at last perish was oh so satisfying.

The Lord of Shades swirled around the Junk Pit, their new form moving like ink through water, like smoke and shadows. They regarded the broken mask of Godseeker lying before them, cracked and stained with void around the eyes, the streaks resembling corrupted tears. Despite the bug’s loathsome demeanour, the Lord was grateful for her work, for how else would they be able to reach the Radiance in her prime form, slay her so that she wouldn't return like a bad dream?

A familiar shriek caught their attention and they lowered their head, chin resting on two of their four palms as they regarded Grimmchild, their fierce little charge, floating before them, not far from the rest of their charms.

“Excuse me, little one,” they chuckled, the sound echoing in the vast cavern. At last, that what their so-called father has deprived them of was finally within their reach! “I should refrain from insulting your father by referring to her as a nightmare.” A stray tendril brushed against the child's cheek. “Those are still capable of bringing beauty into the world, are they not? Even if they only make one appreciate it more upon awakening.”

Grimmchild purred, leaning into their touch, and the Lord of Shades felt a new sensation bloom within them: affection.

Why, yes! After all, they weren't a vessel anymore (something much more powerful than the Pale King and the blight he tried to escape from), so they could speak, and feel, and laugh, head thrown back and voice echoing all across the waterways, sending fluke-kin and other loathsome creatures scurrying away in terror.

“Quite far we have come together, child,” they hummed, feeling amusement bubble in their chest cavity like the acid around Monomon’s Archive. “Shall we go even further?”

They could ascend; leave Hallownest forever and maybe seek out the Pale King if he still drew breath somewhere, make him pay for every cracked shell that lied in the Abyss and for the suffering of the ones left alive and cursed to bear his resemblance. They could remember the look in the Hollow Knight's eyes as they drove their nail into their own chest again and again, infection dripping from their eyes like tears of pain, of sorrow.

_No voice to cry suffering._

Oh, they will give them all a voice. Every lost soul, every lingering regret, every child hurt and abandoned by the monster who called himself their father.

Another squeak, warmth against their hand as Grimmchild nuzzled against it. The Lord stroked it again. Or, they mused, they could return as the new Ghost of Hallownest, reborn and clinging to everything they were deprived of as a vessel. They could speak to those they would be leaving behind, at last tell them everything they couldn't previously, experience all the emotions they ached to feel! Would that not be wonderful?

Besides, Grimmchild was still in need of a guardian, and they would rather tear themselves apart than cause their child pain. (Unlike some wyrms out there.)

Shall they go even further? “Yes, I think we shall.”

Void was malleable, capable of fitting into any shape or crevice, so fitting into their old shell would not be very difficult. Speaking of which, the mask was split in half, so they stitched it together with void so that only a faint scar remained, a memento of the battle they won.

“I will no longer be able to use soul to heal,” the Lord hummed as they worked, enjoying the sound of their new voice too much to leave the thought unspoken. “A short soak in a hot spring or a pool of void would suffice, though. And as always, a comfortable bench could work wonders on even the most grievous of wounds.” They sew their cloak together, threads of void melting into the fabric so that it was impossible to see them anymore. Yes, black suited them marvellously. “I wonder if a being of my power can even be hurt in the first place?”

The pure nail was intact, they were delighted to find, for they had no clue how to fix that without the help of a nailsmith. They lied it next to their charms, cloak, and void-stained backpack before diving into the empty mask, every nook and cranny filled with concentrated void so dark that one would immediately go blind if they gazed at it directly.

After a couple of moments, though, the blackness turned a more familiar shade as Ghost stood up on shaking legs, grabbing their nail for support. They were trembling like a newborn grub.

“Well,” they rasped, the void allowing them to speak even without a mouth. “Was that not interesting?”

Grimmchild, who was previously watching the whole ordeal in silence, tackled them to the ground with a joyful screech, wings obscuring their vision as it nuzzled against their mask.

They laughed, the sound raspy and alien as their body was still accustoming itself to the changes, and they embraced it tightly.

“Yes, yes,” they murmured, feeling warmth blossom within them, “I’m back. I won’t leave you, I promise.”

At last, the little thing allowed them to stand up, more surely this time, and together they made their way upwards and out of the cavern, into a world at last free of the infection.

~~~

The City of Tears was quiet aside from the rain, the risen husks dead like they should be and any vengeflies seeming to ignore them unless they neared. This was good, Ghost mused, as they were still too weak to attempt fighting anything, no matter how small. Where was that bench, the one near the Soul Sanctum? Ah.

They sat down, sighing in relief, as Grimmchild settled on their lap and immediately dozed off. Carefully, to avoid startling it, Ghost sorted through their charms, pondering what would be suitable given their present state. With Grimmchild, whom they didn't have the heart to dismiss, they had nine notches left. Unbreakable Strength, definitely, as well as Mark of Pride, since they were still unsure about their ability to fight. That left three notches, which they decided to spend on Sprintmaster, Wayward Compass, and Nailmaster’s Glory - that one reminded them of their father.

…

… no, not that one. Their actual father, the one who actually gave them the warmth and love a father should give to their child; who took them in and welcomed their company with enthusiasm; who taught them their most beloved nail art: the Cyclone Slash.

Mato.

Ghost wished that their mask would allow them to smile as they thought about the Nailmaster. He was probably meditating inside his hut in the Howling Cliffs, or (much more likely) worrying his head off because they haven't visited for so long. They remembered fighting a dream-mockery of him in Godhome; Godseeker’s apparition didn't have even a trace of that warmth, that enthusiasm in it as they crossed nails, Ghost only emerging victorious because they knew that it wasn't really their father that tried to kill them; even their training sessions weren't that intense, and real Mato’s nail never even glanced their shell.

They should visit him, even if just to tell him that they’re doing okay.

First things first, though...

~~~

In hindsight, they probably should've left the waterways via the exit in the Fungal Wastes, but Ghost was too happy to mind the slightly longer trek as they left the City of Tears and headed for the Mantis Village, returning the bow of every mantis they met along the way. Now that Grimmchild was older and wiser, it fortunately learned the difference between friend and enemy, and didn't attack any of the non-hostile bugs.

“Noble warrior?” one of them spoke up after the customary bow. “My child has fallen prey to the infection a few days ago, but this morning she awoke in perfect health. It's as if the blight was at last gone from these lands. Do you know anything about this?”

Ghost nodded, cherishing the joy that spread through their being.

“Yes,” they replied, “I do. Please give your child my best regards.”

With that, they carried on, leaving the mantis staring at their back with confusion.

The Mantis Lords stood up when they entered their throne room, and all four of them bowed deeply as they always did when their paths had the fortune to cross.

“You return, little warrior,” the first said.

Ghost nodded.

“We know of your quest,” the second added, “to free Hallownest from the infection.”

Another nod.

“And,” the third crossed her arms on her chest, “judging from the reports of our scouts, you have succeeded.”

Ghost nodded once more and, to the surprise of all three queens, spoke.

“The infection will plague you no more,” they announced. “The being which brought it to Hallownest has fallen from my nail, a feat I would not be able to achieve without the charm gifted by your noble tribe.” Placing a hand on the Mark of Pride, they bowed deeply. “Know that my gratitude to you knows no bounds, noble lords, and that my nail will always join you in battle as an ally, not enemy.”

There was as chuckle above, and they felt a hand rest on the top of their head.

“Rise, little warrior,” said the first Lord. “As honoured as we are that you found our gift useful, you downplay your own role in this victory.”

“It is we who should be grateful to you,” the second Lord hopped down from her throne to stand next to them. “You have done what not even our fiercest of warriors have; slain that which not even our nails could reach, saving us all from the brink of a catastrophe.”

The third Lord joined them, falling on one knee in front of Ghost.

“For that,” she said as her sisters joined her, “we are forever in your debt, little one. May your nail remain sharp and your enemies unwary.”

Ghost, who knew the appropriate response and was finally able to utter it, replied: “may your blades strike true and the wilds of Hallownest always lead you home.”

With that, the Lords stood up and allowed them to pass into Deepnest.

~~~

Their next stop was the Distant Village, where Hornet had made her dwelling after Herrah’s death. Ghost's chest fluttered with excitement as they cut down another dirt carver, Grimmchild shooting a fireball at them for a good measure. They couldn't wait to speak to their sister, tell her that the Radiance was no more. Oh, they wondered what that bode to her loyal subjects - the spiders of Deepnest.

The question was answered for them when the Stalking Devout they almost bumped into as they were lost in thought didn't immediately attack them, but moved out of their way, bowing their head a little.

Ghost returned the bow, holding Grimmchild’s mouth shut in case it got overly eager and got them into an unnecessary fight. They hurried past, entering the Distant Village and heading straight for the central cocoon.

There, on a newly cleaned and repaired bench, sat Hornet, cleaning her needle with a piece of cloth… and she wasn't alone.

Next to her knelt a tall bug… a vessel, much like what Ghost used to be. It sported a dark green cloak and a mask with tall antlers, a crack running through its middle. Ghost recognised it instantly - Hell, they wouldn't be able to forget the Hollow Knight even if they wanted to.

“Sibling!” they cried, making the two look up abruptly, startled, as they all but flew into the chamber, eyes not leaving Hollow's, at last free of that sickening orange. “Sibling!”

They crashed into them, almost toppling the taller bug backwards, void tears leaking from their eye sockets as they wrapped their arms around their waist and held on tightly, almost fearing that letting go would make them return to the temple, wrapped in those horrible chains and with bubbles of sickness oozing from their chest as they stabbed themselves over and over and… and…

No, their chest was intact. No infection, no torn holes made by their own nail, nothing.

Aside from missing an entire arm, Hollow was… alright.

They were alright.

They were alright!

Ghost knew what joy felt like, but this… the thing that they were feeling was that but multiplied. Thousands of times. Spreading through their entire form like the warmth of a hot spring, making their throat tighten as they wept with joy into their sibling's chest, the emotion so overwhelming that they were unable to do anything else for a long while.

Hollow looked down at them, recognising this small thing from the scraps of memories they glimpsed through Radiance’s corruption. They remembered facing this vessel multiple times, the blissful coolness that bathed their tired mind when the Radiance was too busy fighting to torture them. This little vessel came back time and time again no matter how many times it fell to the Radiance’s power. And when they stopped returning, when Hollow thought that their suffering would never end… it did.

The Radiance was gone. There was a shriek that almost made their head split open and what felt like hours of agony worse than anything they ever experienced as the being clung to her prison, clung to staying alive in at least her dream form, before she just… vanished.

They didn't have to guess who was behind her demise.

With their one remaining arm, they hugged their saviour as tightly as they were able to, void-tears falling from their eyes as, at last, a feeling other than pain bloomed in their being, flawed in their ability to feel: Relief. Joy. Gratitude. Love.

“Sibling,” the little thing wailed into them. They wondered how they got the ability to speak. Were they like their sister who found them in the temple, weak and gasping for breath, but alive? “Sibling, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I could not banish the Radiance from you during our first fight. I'm sorry that I wasn't strong enough back then. I'm sorry for every blow I had to land on you to get to her. I'm sorry for keeping you waiting for so long as I sought her out outside of your dream. I'm sorry that you had to suffer for so long. I'm sorry for everything.”

They ached to comfort them, tell them that they had nothing to apologise for, but alas, _no voice to cry suffering,_ so they just tightened the embrace to the best of their ability, hoping that it was enough.

Hornet, meanwhile, just stared. She's didn't even notice Grimmchild curling up for a nap beside her, so absorbed she was in the sight of her sibling, the Ghost of Hallownest, having returned from who knew where, having rid the world of the infection and apparently also finding out how to speak. And what was that scar running through their mask?

“Such a strange being you are,” she muttered, folding her arms on her chest as she watched the reunion, wishing that she could smile.

Eventually, Ghost unglued themselves from their sibling and turned to her, wiping away tears with that strange black cloak of theirs.

“Hello, sister,” they said, voice slightly hoarse from crying. They also pronounced ‘sister’ strangely, but Hornet remembered how awkward her own first words were, and didn't pay it much mind.

“Come here,” she spread her arms open.

Ghost embraced her gratefully, those small arms of theirs stronger than they appeared to be. She returned the gesture. “I know not what you did, but couldn't be more proud of you for doing it.” She then gasped as Hollow swept the two of them into a one-armed hug, the three siblings at last together.

Neither of them was sure how long it took until they finally let go of each other, but eventually they settled down and Ghost used their newfound voice to tell them of their adventures in this strange place called Godhome, fighting their spectral versions along with tens of other enemies before they were able to reach the Radiance.

“What I have become after defeating it…” Ghost looked down at their hands, “I still have some trouble comprehending, but I'm no longer the vessel I used to be.”

Hornet listened attentively, stroking Grimmchild which lied on her lap. “Is that how you can speak?” she asked.

Ghost (or should she say, the Lord of Shades?) nodded.

Hollow poked her gently in the shoulder, as if reminding her of their presence. They gestured at themselves, then at Ghost, and waved vaguely with their hand.

She rubbed her chin. “Say, Ghost, our sibling has missed out on quite a lot of things. Mind telling them the rest of your story?”

~~~

After literal hours and the combined efforts of Ghost and Hornet to recount everything that took place since Hollow's imprisonment, Ghost bid the two of them farewell and promised to visit soon. As much as they would love to spend more time with their siblings, they had other people to speak to.

They entered the Queen's Gardens and, with Mosscreeps scurrying out of their way, picked a bouquet of Delicate Flowers.

“For a very special someone,” they told Grimmchild as it tried to set the nearest vine on fire, thankfully with little success.

~~~

The path to the Howling Cliffs was easier now that all the living creatures that resided there were back to their usual skittish selves and didn't try to kill them at any opportune moment.

Unfortunately, Ghost had to switch the Grimmchild charm for Sharp Shadow; as much as they loved the company, flowers and fire were not a good combination, and they'd prefer if all of them remained intact for as long as possible.

As they neared the Nailmaster’s hut, their excitement grew so that they were all but skipping towards it, steps quickening until they were sprinting, flying above the spikes and almost crashing into the bench outside of the hut.

“Father!” they cried upon entering. “Father, it's me!”

FINALLY! Finally, they could call Mato that what he was to them, that what the Pale King could never be no matter how hard he tried.

Mato looked up, startled by the noise.

“My child?” he sprang to his feet just in time for Ghost to crash into him, hugging him to the best of their ability given his large physique and their short arms.

“Father!” they repeated, wondering if they will ever get tired of saying it, and deciding that probably not. All the joy at being able to say it after so many silences made them feel dizzy. “Father, I ended the infection! It's all gone! Hallownest is safe! And…” they paused to catch breath. “A-and I can speak!” Just in case it wasn't immediately obvious.

Mato stared down at them in shock, trying to process everything they said, and the fact that they said anything in the first place! The infection was gone? Great! He had no clue how his little pupil managed to do it, but the Cliffs were indeed no longer crawling with infected corpses, so that checked out. He was overjoyed at that, and was just about to congratulate his pupil when something else they said hit him harder than Sheo during their training sessions.

_“Father.”_

And that, dear reader, was when Nailmaster Mato burst out crying.

Now, Ghost was still new to this whole emotions business, but they were pretty sure that this wasn't the desired reaction. Was father sad? Upset? Why was he crying? Was it something they said? Should they not have called him father in the first place? They were almost as confused as they were concerned, and they were concerned as hell.

“Father?” they reached up to touch his face, just barely, and wipe some of the tears. “What's wrong? Aren't you happy?”

Mato just looked down at them and pulled them into a hug so tight that they legitimately worried for the safety of their shell.

“Nothing,” he sniffled, rocking them from side to side a little. “Nothing is wrong, my child. My wonderful, remarkable little pupil. Nothing is wrong.” He wiped his face with his cloak before continuing, still sniffling occasionally. “I'm just happy, little one. So happy, I don't think I've ever been happier!”

And then, to Ghost’s relief, he laughed.

(Come to think of it, they cried during their reunion with Hollow, too. Did happiness bring tears as well?)

“What you did… the infection… I don't understand what you did and how, but yes, I'm happy for Hallownest and its inhabitants, but you know what made me even happier?”

Ghost shook their head, and Mato sat them on his lap, arms still tight around them. The smile he gave them filled them with so much warmth that they thought they would combust.

“That I finally got to hear your voice," he said, then laughed once more, his wide frame shaking. “To be called father for the first time… truly, I don't think anything has ever brought me this much joy.”

Oh, how desperately Ghost wished they could smile! Lacking that ability to do that, they just embraced him again.

“I love you, father,” they murmured, burrowing into his cloak, happier than they had the words to describe.

Mato hugged them harder, almost crushing the flowers they had in their bag.

“I love you too,” he managed to utter, voice breaking a little. "I love you so much."

Ghost was actually beginning to doze off a little - after all, they made quite a trek from the Junk Pit up to the Cliffs - when they remembered about the aforementioned flowers. They carefully took them out of the bag, inspecting them for any damage and finding none, and handed them to their father.

“Those are for you,” they said helpfully.

Mato took them gently, eyes widening at the sight. Why, those flowers seemed to be glowing! The white petals emanated a soft white light which only shone brighter as he hugged his child again, placing a kiss on their forehead. He had no words to express his gratitude, so actions would have to do.

With Ghost in one hand and flowers in the other, he stood up to fetch a vase and a couple of pots, since they could apparently be planted. Somehow, the hut didn't seem as bleak and empty as it usually was, though he wasn't sure whether it was thanks to the strange flowers or his good spirits. Both, more likely than not.

With that settled, he sat down to meditate. Basking in that warm, soft glow, tranquillity came over him almost instantly.

Meanwhile in his lap, swaddled in his cloak and happier than they ever were, Ghost fell asleep.

~~~

The next day they paid a visit to Dirtmouth, swinging by Sly to give him a fancy, ornate, and probably expensive brooch they found in the Junk Pit, though it was beyond them how exactly it got there.

Sly looked up at them with suspicion.

“You want to sell it to me?” he asked.

Ghost shook their head. “A gift,” they replied, making the small fly jump. “Freely given.”

He scratched his head, large eyes narrowing.

“Aren't you full of surprises,” he hummed, and the brooch disappeared under the counter. “Well, thank you. It's… very nice of you.”

Ghost also had a small mountain of geo accumulated throughout their travels. Since Divine was gone and both Sly and Salubra were out of stocks that could be of use to them…

“You like geo, right?”

Sly nodded quickly, antennae bobbing up and down.

“Even freely given?”

~~~

Sly actually hugged them goodbye and told them to visit whenever they wanted before flying back inside, wings buzzing, to count all the new geo in his possession. Ghost just shook their head and went on their way.

They sat by Elderbug and chatted a little, admiring the flower they gave him shortly after slaying Lurien, the last of the Dreamers. Ghost had wanted to give the old bug something to remember them by in case they didn't come back from the fight with the Radiance, as well as a little token of appreciation for simply being there to greet them every time they came to the town.

“You should visit Bretta,” Elderbug said, pulling them out of their thoughts. “She and her new friend have been worried sick about you. Lovely ladies, the two of them; that new one, Wyla or something like that, has a pretty singing voice.”

Ghost froze. Wyla? Singing voice?

“D-don’t you mean Myla?” they asked, thinking back to the little bug they met near Crystal Peak, that cheerful little thing who eventually lost to the infection? They had ached to put her out of her misery back then, but couldn't bring themselves to raising their nail.

“Myla, yes!” Elderbug chuckled a little. “I apologise, my memory isn't as good as it used to be. She's only a recent addition to our happy little town, though, so I promise that I'll get it right eventually!”

Ghost glanced in the direction of Bretta’s house. After Zote vanished under mysterious circumstances following the Ritual’s conclusion (Ghost hoped that Divine ate him or something), Bretta took to exploring Hallownest all on her own, finally having understood that she needed no knight in shining armour to bring her joy.

They knocked twice, waiting with bated breath for a response. They hoped that Myla was okay; it was difficult to gauge how far the infection had progressed within her. Would its disappearance even leave her alive?

The door opened, and they were met with two large, black eyes with no traces of infection.

“Bretta!” Myla cried out in that familiar voice they never thought they'd hear again. “Bretta, it's them! They're back!”

Ghost found themself pulled into the small living space littered with various trinkets and pages. It was different than they remembered: first of all, there were two beds instead of one, and a lot of trinkets and knick-knacks, as well as a rack on which rested a decently maintained nail and a pickaxe.

There was also Bretta, beaming widely as she rushed to hug them, sputtering out how sorry she was for believing what Zote had told her about them, how worried she any Myla were, and how happy she was that they were okay. Truth be told, she was speaking so quickly that Ghost could only guess that this is what she was talking about.

“I’m glad to see you two, too,” they said, managing to unglue her from their person only to find Myla taking her place. “I, um, I’m glad that you’re okay too, Myla.”

Myla smiled at them, bouncing a little on the spot like an excited grub.

“We met not too long ago, near t-the mines,” she said, letting go of them eventually. “I t-thought that the inf-fection would take over me entirely, but B-Bretta brought me here, to Dirtmouth, and I think that slowed it down.”

Bretta nodded, clinging to the other bug’s arm. The look they shared told Ghost enough about the feelings budding between them. “She was actually doing better once away from those awful crystals,” she said, “though there were still occasional attacks where she couldn’t recognise me… but then yesterday, it all went away! Completely!”

Ghost glanced at Myla. She looked slightly plumper than they remembered, though evidently weary, but it was still the same old Myla. How wonderful was it to hear her voice again!

“The infection won’t plague you again,” they assured her. “I’ve-”

They were interrupted by Bretta pulling out their pure nail and regarding it with stars in her eyes. “Wow, your nail is magnificent! Look at all those swirls!”

Myla craned her head over to look, and the two proceeded to coo over the weapon as if it was a pretty piece of jewellery.

“A suitable weapon for killing that tall moth lady,” Myla hummed, giving it back to them. “She was mean.”

Ghost thought back to the flying blades, balls of golden fire, and lasers shooting left and right. They nodded. “Very mean.”

Bretta picked up the nail from the rack and handed it to them. “This one is mine - I bought it from Sly.” She giggled nervously, blushing a little. “But… I only have a basic idea how to wield it. W-would you please teach me?”

Now, Ghost didn’t think that they would be a good teacher; everything they knew came to them so naturally that they wouldn’t know how to describe it! However, they thought back to their father, and how delighted he was to find a new student. His brothers (their uncles?) had told them that he always dreamed of passing down his skills to a younger generation, so why not…

“I don’t think I could,” they replied, “but I know someone who can.”

~~~

After they politely declined to stay over for tea and berries, Ghost paid a quick visit to Iselda’s shop.

“Ah, you’re back!” Iselda’s bored expression melted away instantly when she saw them enter. She brightened up. “Corny, the little one is back!”

There was a great deal of shuffling and the door to the storage room opened, letting out a small flood of paper, map pins, and a very startled Cornifer.

“Oh dear,” he looked down at the mess at his feet. “I’ll clean this mess up later, honey, I promise!” He then adjusted his glasses and finally noticed Ghost. “Oh, hello there! Iselda and I were worried about you!”

“Thank you,” Ghost replied, jumping up to climb on the counter to be on face level with the two bugs. “I just came to say hello and compare maps.”

Iselda raised an eyebrow. “You can speak now?”

They nodded.

Cornifer clapped his hands joyfully. “Marvellous! You must tell us of all your adventures!” his hands were already trembling a little, and the way he looked at their bag reminded them of a hungry predator.

And so they spent a good couple hours recounting their adventures, pointing them out on their map, waiting until Cornifer stopped marvelling at the vastness of Deepnest (“Thank goodness I didn’t venture this far in!”) and talking about the mantises, whom Iselda turned out to be familiar with.

“A fascinating tribe,” she said as Cornifer spat out his tea at the revelation. “I trained with them for some time, but never won against their lords. May I see that charm they gave you?”

Ghost nodded, passing her the Mark of Pride. “You trained with them?”

She smiled, handing it back after she was done inspecting it. “It was long ago, before I moved out of Hallownest and met Corny.” She reached into the open store room and pulled out a long nail indeed not dissimilar to the ones wielded by the Mantis Lords. “Have you fought all four of them at once?”

“Three,” Ghost corrected. “It’s… a long story.” They then returned to recounting their adventure through the Queen’s Gardens, and the fight with the Traitor Lord.

“...Oh.”

“Oh, indeed,” Cornifer sipped his tea more slowly now, listening raptly. “Is there truly a connection between that realm and Deepnest? Oh, I must see it!” He leapt to his feet. “Now that the infection is gone, the paths are much safer and I can expl-ow!”

He winced when Iselda whacked him in the head with the flat side of her nail.

“Not without me, dummy!” she told him. “I’ve heard enough about these realms of yours to know that letting you go off alone once more would be a terrible idea.” She raised her nail when he tried to protest. “Don’t worry about the shop; Bretta has been a great assistant so far; I’m sure that she could handle running the shop alone if need be.”

“B-but honey…”

“No buts! I’m not letting you go down there alone again!”

Ghost felt amusement bubble beneath his shell as the couple argued, and slipped out of the shop when they were sure that they were too engaged to notice.

~~~

With that taken care of, they descended into the Stag Station, hoping to find their old friend well after their extended absence. Standing on their tiptoes, they rang the bell.

…

Nothing.

They scratched the back of their head. The stag should be there by now! He usually never took this long no matter where he was in Hallownest. Then again, the poor soul was getting older every day.

Maybe something happened to him? Concern spread its thorny vines through their body. Was he hurt? Maybe suffered a broken leg? Surely he couldn’t be dead, could he?

Could he?

Finally, blessedly, they heard the approaching thud of steps… only this time it was different.

Out of the tunnel emerged the Old Stag, standing tall and proud before them.

“Apologies for the delay,” he grumbled. “These two need a little more time to catch up.” As he was saying that, two young staglets peeked out from behind him. They were small, roughly the size of pilflips, and only approached them when the older stag did.

Ghost watched, transfixed, the two little creatures sniffling them curiously, their furry snouts pushing them back a little. Once they were done, they returned to their caretaker.

“I found them wandering in the tunnels between the Ancient Basin and Deepnest,” the Stag explained. “Poor things were terrified out of their minds, didn’t even remember how they got there. There’s one more, I think hatched from the egg that you had found, but she is asleep now.”

“Too young to walk just yet,” one of the staglets chimed in.

“What’s that scar on your face?” asked the other, only to be immediately shushed by its sibling.

“Shush! That’s rude!”

Once the initial shock passed, Ghost felt joy bloom within them at the news.

“So you’re not the last stag anymore!” they cried, reaching out to hug the great bug’s head. “I knew that there would be others!”

Then, for the first time in Ghost’s memory, the Old Stag laughed.

“Found your voice, eh?” he said, nuzzling lightly against them. “And you were right, little one. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for helping me find my kin.”

Ghost patted his head companionably, letting him straighten up.

“I’m glad that I could help,” they said sincerely. “Could you take me to Greenpath?”

“Greenpath?” the first staglet repeated. “I know where that is! Can I lead the way?”

The Old Stag smiled down at it indulgently. “Of course you can, little one.”

~~~

After dropping them off, the Old Stag and his two young pupils returned to the Stag Nest.

“I’m teaching these scoundrels how to navigate the tunnels so that they won’t get lost again,” he said before leaving, “so next time you’re at a station, ring the bell.”

Ghost nodded, and watched the three stags disappear into the tunnel. They wished they could smile.

After switching their charms at the nearest bench, they made their way to the tunnel connecting Greenpath with the Queen’s Gardens. They planned to go there directly at first, but they figured that Greenpath would be a shorter journey for the short-legged staglets. Maybe some other time.

Thankfully, the colourful fauna of Greenpath either ignored them or fled as soon as they approached, so they had little issue with getting to the Gardens, where they were greeted by a very confused and very tired mantis, wondering where he was and why his head was so sore.

“I… is the infection gone?” he asked as they helped him stand up from where he was slouched against a wall. “I remember so little… is the Lord dead?”

Ghost nodded. “I’m sorry.”

To their surprise, the mantis laughed. “Don’t be. I’m glad that the fat idiot is finally gone. He made for a decent leader, yes, but I could never follow a bug who slew his own child for loving a foreigner. Hopefully, we’ll finally get to elect someone wiser.”

“Consider making peace with your kin in the Fungal Wastes,” they suggested. “With both your leader and the infection gone, an agreement could be reached.”

The mantis scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Not a bad plan. Can I pass that on to the others?”

“I cannot see why not.”

“Can I take credit for it?”

“Don’t push it.”

He rolled his eyes and took off with a flutter of wings.

Satisfied, Ghost proceeded to meander through their least favourite part of the area (ie. the one with all the thorns) until they reached the grave of the Traitor’s Child.

“It is possible that your kin may return home,” they told it, kneeling down. “I’m sorry that you didn’t get to see it.”

The grave did not reply, but one Delicate Flower bloomed right in front of them, and they suddenly thought of Paintmaster Sheo and the Nailsmith, living peacefully in their hut deep in the Greenpath.

 _“Pass it to them,”_ something within them whispered. _“May they have what we couldn’t.”_

Oh, Ghost blinked when the voice fell silent. “I was going there, anyway, so why not?”

Was it just their imagination, or did the rustle of leaves around them sound just a little bit like two voices laughing, and why did the second one sound like the Grey Mourner?

~~~

After making their way back and crystal-dashing to Sheo’s, Ghost hid the flower well so that its glow would not ruin the surprise, and knocked.

The door - which was more of a vaguely rectangular piece of wood - opened, revealing Sheo grinning down at them.

“Ah, it’s you!” he exclaimed, allowing them to enter before shutting the door. “Back from your latest excursion, eh?”

They nodded, following him into the hut proper, where they could see the Nailsmith sculpting a beautifully detailed duranda out of clay. He beamed when he saw them approach, the smile evident even through his beard (braided neatly so that it wouldn’t get in the way.)

“Look who decided to join us!” he stood up, wiping his hands with a piece of cloth. “Hello there, little one. What brings you to us?”

“I ended the infection,” Ghost replied.

The two bugs stared down at them in shock, evidently trying to decide whether they should be more shocked at the news or their ability to speak.

“I also brought you a gift,” they produced the flower, holding it up for Sheo, who was standing closer, to see. “It’s very delicate so please be careful.”

 _‘Because I don’t want to make that trip all over again,’_ they did not add.

The paintmaster took the blossom from them carefully, eyes widening at the beauty held within its petals. His breath caught in his chest as he and his sweetheart gazed at it with undisguised wonder.

Satisfied that the gift was met with a suitable reaction, Ghost brushed some leaves from their cloak.

“These flowers symbolise love and devotion in life and beyond,” they said. “Plant it outside if you wish, and may it grow until all of Greenpath glows with your love.”

(They always wanted to say something like that.)

The Nailsmith sniffled, wiping at his eyes. “We will,” he promised as he held the flower while Sheo proceeded to nearly crush them in a hug. “Thank you for such a magnificent gift.”

“And thank you for saving the world,” Sheo added when he finally let them down. “How would you like a portrait of you painted in your honour?”

Ghost, who was still catching their breath after almost having their shade hugged out of them, only shook their head.

“Maybe…” they gasped, slowly retreating towards the exit in case the Nailsmith and his strong, muscular arms got any similar ideas, “maybe some other time.”

~~~

Days passed, then weeks.

Ghost lived at Mato’s, though sometimes they stayed over with their siblings, whom they were already planning to introduce to their father, who had a bit of an adopt-any-bug-excited-about-fighting syndrome, which was only confirmed when he took on Bretta as his pupil. They wondered what he’d think about Hornet’s unique fighting style.

“Probably lose his head from excitement,” they muttered to themself as they paced around their room. They had told him of their adventures the other day, showing him their charms and explaining where they got them from and what each one did.

Mato was delighted to meet Grimmchild (the sentiment was mutual if its purring was anything to go by), the weaverlings and the hatchlings, all of which fell in love with him straight away. As endearing as they were, however, Mato’s favourite charms were the ones that influenced the nail: Longnail, Mark of Pride (“Introduce me to those mantises sometime, will you? I’d love to try my nail against them”), Quick Slash, Grubberfly’s Elegy, and the like. The Elegy especially sparked enthusiasm, and Mato turned temporarily incoherent with excitement when Ghost allowed him to try it out.

“Marvellous!” he cried, slashing at the air and wathing the waves of energy shoot out of it. “Simply marvellous!”

When they weren’t spending time with their family, Ghost walked the much quieter tunnels of Hallownest, simply enjoying the tranquillity and lack of exploding, murderous zombies. They also spoke with Jiji, the Snail Shaman, and Ogrim, whom they gave a delicate flower so that he could plant it in Isma’s Grove. They also carried the flowers to the graves of all the dream warriors, the Glade of Hope, the resting places of the three Dreamers, planted one on Cloth’s grave, and carried one or two to the Seer’s former dwelling.

There was one more flower they had to deliver, but they kept putting it off, the void inside them twisting and turning painfully at the mere thought.

_Quirrel._

It physically hurt to think about him. He was one of the first bugs they encountered after entering Hallownest, and every time they uncovered another strange location, a small part of them wished that he would be there as well, eager as ever to enchant them with a new story or just be there, a welcome company after uncountable hardships.

Void-tears welled up in their eyes as they stood on the Blue Lake’s shore, clutching a single flower in their trembling hands. The nail was where they left it, and they weren’t sure if they should be happy or upset because of that.

“Quirrel,” their voice seemed to refuse to cooperate, stuck inside their throat as they approached the makeshift shrine. “Quirrel, I’m sorry.”

They weren’t sure what exactly they were apologising for. Not being able to tell him how much he meant to them? Not being able to stop him from going… wherever he went? Not being able to comfort him after they murdered his sleeping teacher? So many regrets swirling inside them. Even as the Lord of Shades who supposedly controlled void and therefore regrets, they couldn’t let them go.

They knelt down next to the nail, head bowed low, placing the flower beside it.

“You were my dearest friend,” they said as their tears fell like the rain in the city below. “You were a constant in my travels, a friendly face in a world full of dangers. From the very first moment we met in the temple, I knew that there was something special about you. And… and you proved me right! You were such a wonderful friend to me, and you were so smart and curious about everything and cheerful no matter what place or situation we found ourselves in.” They wiped their eyes before continuing, their regrets leaving them one by one as tears. “I wish I had been able to tell you how much you meant to me back then. I wish I could see your face once more, hear your voice telling me a fact or story about the place we found ourselves in. I wish I could hug you.” Ghost didn’t think they ever hugged him, and that regret welled up as another tear. “Seeing you there in Deepnest, or on that bench in the City of Tears… I think those were the moments that taught me happiness. _You_ taught me happiness.”

They were so absorbed in their grief that they didn’t see the shadowed figure leaning against the wall of the tunnel leading to the Resting Grounds. It listened attentively, toying with the strap of its bag.

“Even though I finally know how to speak,” Ghost carried on, “I don’t think I can find words capable of how much happiness you brought into my life. Every time we met on the road, seeing you made me more happy than even the finest of benches. When I explored Hallownest, I kept hoping to see you behind every bend, inside every unexplored room. That hope was all that kept me going at times, tired and desperate, through acid and spike, thorn or nail… If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have made it this far.”

“Remember our fight with Uumuu? I’m sorry that we had to kill him. You used to know him, right? I’m sorry that you had to kill him because of me.” Another tear, another regret. “Can you believe that it was the first time I’ve ever had anyone fight beside me, and not against me?” Cloth would come later, in the Gardens. “It was… I don’t even care that you saved my life, even though you did, and I cannot be grateful enough, but just the fact that you bothered to raise your nail and fight by my side… nobody has ever done that before.” They shook their head, the void splattering on the rocks. “It meant more to me than anything anyone ever did. Thank you, my friend. Thank you for everything.”

With that all out of their chest, Ghost just knelt there for a while, listening to the whisper of the waves as their tears continued to fall, washed away by the shimmering blue water as soon as they hit the ground. When the last one fell, they stood up.

“Goodbye, Quirrel,” they whispered, voice barely audible. “Wherever you are… I hope that you are as happy and loved as you deserve to be.”

With those words, they charged up the Crystal Heart and took off, heading for the bench outside Salubra’s.

When they were gone, the figure emerged from the shadows and picked the up flower they left behind, turning it in its hands.

“You never cease to amaze, my friend,” it murmured, and headed towards the tram station in the Resting Grounds.

~~~

A few days later, Ghost's sparring session with Bretta (who was learning quicker than they ever thought!) was paused by Mato entering the room, looking visibly excited.

“Ghost, a friend has come to visit you,” he announced, and gestured for them to follow.

That friend turned out to be a certain bug, a little over a head taller than them, with a blue shell and a bag full of scrolls at his shoulder.

That friend also wore a hood, its blue slightly darker than that of his shell. Attached to that hood was a flower.

“As honoured as I am by your words at the lake,” he said in that familiar voice Ghost has been yearning to hear for months, “I do not think myself worthy of them. I do, however, find myself rather happy and loved at the present moment, though mostly the latter." He smiled. "I’m glad to see (and hear) you alive and well, my friend.”

The tears that fell from Ghost’s eyes were, this time, those of joy as they rushed up to the bug, arms outstretched and every inch of their being burning with joy so overwhelming that they didn’t think they’ll ever feel anything else.

“Quirrel!”

**Author's Note:**

> EPILOGUE:  
> Ghost was back in the White Palace, standing before the hollow corpse of the Pale King. There were so many things they wanted to say, but decided that they would only spare their """father""" two words; more than enough to convey everything they wanted to convey.
> 
> "Fuck you."
> 
> The end.
> 
> NOTE: I like the headcanon that the Pale King is still alive and kicking somewhere, and his "corpse" is like a moulted shell or something. Mind you, I only hc this because I want Shade Lord to kick his ass.  
> The assumption in this fic is that Quirrel simply left his old nail by the lake as a symbol of him moving on, leaving his past behind. Now, though, he's all about studying and cartography, seeking out and rediscovering all the secrets Hallownest has to offer.


End file.
